


I Stay.

by CrazyCranberry



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Divergence, Daredevil Spoilers, I couldn't help myself, I'm jumping on the soulmate bandwagon, M/M, Matt and Vlad are cinnamon buns, Mattimir, Soulmate AU, it was just too tempting, just a bit for violent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:45:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCranberry/pseuds/CrazyCranberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, Vladimir and Matt are apparently soulmates. Claire thinks that Matt deserves better, and Vladimir is a sarcastic, begrudging little shit. Both men grieve in their own right, and eventually try to come to terms with their new roles. Matt is still a vigilante, and Vladimir is still a mobster, but compromises have to be made– voluntarily or not. Unfortunately, neither man believes in compromising his beliefs, or his lifestyle, for the other. </p><p>The Universe doesn't have anything against bitchslapping the people who doubt her plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vladimir sputtered on the couch, hands shaking as they hovered over the bullet wound– the man was in _agony_. His eyes were clenched tight, teeth grinding together and creating a 'nails on chalkboard' type scratch, the noise only helping to set Matt further on edge. The sound was unbearably loud in the small space, the wet, rasping quality of Vladimir’s breaths turning Matt's stomach, which was nestled somewhere near his toes.

His mind was a mess, his palms were sweaty, and his mouth had gone dry with a level of panic that he didn’t know existed. “Claire is on her way,” Matt said, but the Russian made no sign of having heard– he continued to writhe, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Matt repeated himself, more for his reassurance, than for the man, _for his soulmate_ , bleeding out on his couch. It seemed like a small eternity before he heard Claire exit the taxi; listened as she clambered up the stairs, finally bringing himself to move just as she raised her hand to knock.

“Claire–” Matt began, but she placed one hand against his chest and shoved. Not hard, but hard enough to make her point.

“No,” she muttered, and Matt could tell she was shifting her weight from foot to foot, “just show me where he is.” He pointed wordlessly towards the living room, and she was beside the injured mobster in a flash, Matt right on her heels. She tugged up Vladimir’s shirt, grumbling obscenities and most likely glaring an additional hole into the side of the man’s head, but proceeded to unzip her bag and get to work, anyway. As soon as he had reached his apartment he’d called her, pleading for her to help. He was surprised at the lack of reluctance before she’d ultimately agreed– she must have heard something desperate and unequivocally _terrified_ in his voice. Matt figured she was here more for him and _his_ well being, than for the want to actually help Vladimir survive the night.“This is bad, Matt,” she stated, as she administered a dose of _something_ that knocked the Russian out cold in a shockingly short amount of time. Matt still remained silent– he _knew_ it was bad. He could heard the stuttering tempo of the man’s heart, could heard each drop of crimson that hit the floor, could _smell_ the amount of blood permeating the air.

 _“You better not die on me now, you son of a bitch,”_ Matt thought, with a vehemence he’d only been able to scrounge up twice in his life. He listened to Claire work, retrieved whatever she asked for without question, kept tabs on the man’s heartbeat and breathing– it had stopped once, and that was enough, as far as Matt was concerned. He felt the slightest bit of relief when she began stitching up Vladimir’s side, the skin puckering and pulling due to the burn produced by the flare.

“He should make it, but I can never know for sure, especially with injuries this extensive… They did a number on him,” Claire said, rising to her feet from where she was crouched on the floor. She didn’t sound at all saddened by the fact that Vladimir looked like he’d been run over by an eighteen wheeler with spiked wheels. Matt didn’t fault her for it– she had probably hoped for worse.

“Thank you, Claire. If there’s _anything_ I can do–”

“Make sure he doesn’t die– I didn’t waste all of those supplies and a peaceful night in my own home for him to bite it,” she said, hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder and heading for the door. Matt followed. “Call, if anything happens. And take care of yourself, okay? You scared me tonight.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how things were going to go, and I didn’t want you to be left _wondering_ –” Matt said, just as Claire leaned in for a bone crushing hug. He hugged her back readily, needing this small comfort before being left alone to deal with the consequences of his decision. “You deserve better,” Claire whispered, before hastily extracting herself from his grip and walking out of the apartment, leaving him ridden with unexplainable guilt, and an unhealthy amount of inner turmoil. _Did he really deserve better?_ He stood by the door until he was sure he’d heard her make it into a taxi, before heading back into the living room. He fell heavily into one of his armchairs, dropping his head to rest against the back. The aches and pains radiating throughout his body grounded him– gave him something to focus on besides the wheezing breaths of the man slumbering to his left.

Matt replayed the events of the evening in his head- the abject possession of his body and obliteration of his logical judgement as he had dragged the Russian out of the tunnels with him, despite the other’s violent protests. “ _I stay_!” Vladimir all but screamed as Matt barricaded the door with the rifle, shoving it through the door’s handle to slow down the procession of gunmen hunting them down. Vladimir had repeated that command over and over and over again, until he was left mumbling incoherently against Matt’s shoulder. Matt had no idea how he’d managed to get them both back to his apartment unscathed and unseen, but he didn’t question it– was too afraid to question it, if he was honest with himself.

“Stubborn bastard,” Matt mumbled to the ceiling, kicking off his boots and pondering how such an immense will to live could be packed into one individual. He’d yet to decide if he was grateful for that or not. He was leaning toward the former, given his newfound circumstances. After a few minutes of rest, he heaved himself out of the chair with a sigh, and trekked to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water was soothing, muting the throb of the bruises that mottled his back and his chest. It was also an excellent source of white noise, though the now steadier thrumming of a heart one room over was still easily discernible. Once dried off and patched up, Matt made to get into bed, but decided against it at the last minute.

In a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, he shuffled back into the main room and collapsed into a chair, pulling a blanket over himself to ward off the chill. He placed his head in his hand and closed his eyes– determined to _only_ rest them, wanting to stay awake in case Vladimir took a turn for the worse. He didn’t think he could handle any worse at this point. But, though his resolve was firm, Matt didn’t account for the sheer wave of exhaustion that would settle down, deep into his bones as the night dragged on; didn’t account for how the small comfort of another heartbeat in the room would allow him to finally _relax_ ; didn’t account for the fact that the man’s even, though shallow, breaths, would lull him into unconsciousness.

He also did not account for Vladimir’s sheer _stupidity_ , or sheer will power, as the other man would later claim. The scene that awaited him come morning gave Matt a very clear idea of what was to come in the following weeks of the Russian’s recovery, and he wasn’t looking for to it at _all_ – soulmate or not.


	2. Just Curse Through the Pain

Matt woke up slowly, awareness coming back to him in bits and pieces. The crick in his neck was one of the first things that got his attention, a rapid thumping the second. Matt strained his ears to try and identify the sound, rubbing his eyes as he sat up straighter.

_‘Thud, thud, thudthudthud–‘_ “Ты идиот!” a voice bit out. Matt rocketed out of his chair, stumbling over his own feet and landing hard on his ass. It took a minute for the angry stream of Russian to register, and another minute for Matt to realize that Vladimir was on the floor.

“What’re you _doing_?” Matt demanded, hearing the stitches in the Russian’s side pull, dangerously close to breaking. He crouched on the floor beside Vladimir, who he now realized was on his stomach, and trying his damned best to _curse_ his way through the pain. The steady stream of what Matt instinctively knew _had_ to be profanity was the only answer he received as he heaved the man off of the floor. The same shock from last night tore a path up his arm, stemming from where his hand cradled Vladimir’s side– burning, insistent, and surprisingly _reassuring_. But, that reassurance seemed to do absolutely nothing for the other man; the pain must’ve been _particularly_ excruciating, because Vladimir proceeded to go silent, and then promptly vomit over the coffee table.

The harsh smell had Matt gagging, and the abrupt emptying of his stomach left Vladimir limp and off balance. “дерьмо стол в любом случае…” Vladimir muttered, and Matt only rolled his eyes, depositing the man back onto the couch. “You are fool,” Vladimir wheezed, as Matt stooped to check Vladimir’s side– nothing had torn, but the movement was definitely not helping his recovery.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” Matt huffed, turning to grab his discarded blanket and drape it over the Russian. The man said nothing else as Matt retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen, the Russian gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. “ _Why_ would you even try to get up?”

“Is shit couch,” Vladimir spat, turning his head to glare up at the vigilante, who he thought was purposefully refusing to meet his gaze. It took him a minute, the dizzy spell and churning of his stomach making it hard to focus, but he finally realized why the man insisted on staring at the pillow to the right of him, and not at his face.

“невозможно…” he breathed, watching as the man’s frown deepened, “is not _possible_!” Matt said nothing, choosing to instead retrieve a wipe and a bucket to clean up the Russian’s sick. It was a very crude, almost intimate action, and Matt hated how he could feel Vladimir’s gaze practically burning a whole through the back of his head. “The mask… you wear mask because you don’t need to _see_ ,” Vladimir stated, still in awe. He remembered watching the man before him take down _armed_ cops, take out nearly _all_ of his men… and he did it without once being able to _see_ any of them. He had it in himself to be impressed.

He briefly thought back to the previous night, when they had been struggling for survival in the access tunnels. He remembered how ready he had been to kill the Masked Man for taking his brother from him– for _decapitating_ him, and throwing away his body like trash. But then his world had shifted, and now he knew better. One night, spent half-conscious on the vigilante’s pathetic couch, was all it took to wholly convince Vladimir of the truth. The man was not a killer– he could be brutal when warranted, and Vladimir now knew him to be almost _super human_ , but he was not a murderer. He hadn’t been pushed _that_ far…yet.

“You know, I might not be able see, but I can feel you burning a hole in my shirt,” Matt said, startling Vladimir from his thoughts. The Russian only grunted, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position.

_‘FOGGY. FOGGY. FOGGY.’_

Matt cursed, lurching to his feet, and making a bee-line for the kitchen counter– his phone buzzed, clacking against the granite. “What _is_ that?” Vladimir hissed from behind him, just as the phone began ringing again.

_‘FOGGY. FOGGY. FOG–‘_

“ _Hey_ ,” Matt breathed, moving into the entry hall to keep Vladimir from overhearing. The man grumbled something under his breath in the other room, crossing and uncrossing his arms in irritation.

“ _Hey bud_ , you’re late! The _one_ day I forget to call you, and you can’t even get yourself out of bed–”

“I’m not coming in today, I…I have a nasty virus, and I don’t want to get you guys sick,” Matt said, cutting Foggy off. It was one thing to lie to his friend about his vigilante work, but it was another to lie about something so _monumentally_ important and life changing. But, then again, he wasn’t exactly _lying_ in this instance…

“What? You seemed fine yesterday– _OH_ , it’s probably one of those freak 24 bugs or something.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Matt said, trying his best to sound congested, making Vladimir tilt his head in confusion.

“Do you want me to stop over? I could bring you that soup from 9th street–”

“No, but _thank you_ , Foggy, I’m just going to sleep today. I’m sure I’ll be okay with some rest. I’ll call you later,” Matt said, hoping the other man wouldn’t stop by despite his words. If Foggy was truly concerned, he’d find a way into the apartment– Matt had no doubt about that, and he had an idea that finding a wounded, Russian mobster on his couch wouldn’t go over too well.

“Alright… feel better man, we’ll keep the hatches battened down over here,” Foggy said, and Matt smiled. He didn’t know what he’d do without him.

“Thank you,” Matt said, before hastily hanging up the phone, and pocketing it.

“Who was _that_?” Vladimir spat, as Matt once again took the seat across from him. Vladimir would never admit that the emotion that surged up within him as Matt talked on the phone, had been _jealousy_. It left a sour taste in his mouth, and had immediately turned him bitter. He was only curious about the Man in Mask’s contacts– that was all.

“A friend,” Matt said, not willing to volunteer a name if Vladimir had truly not been able to decipher it. The man may be his soulmate, but he didn’t trust him– not by a long shot, and if he had a choice… he never would.

“Friend… my friends, they are dead,” Vladimir hissed, suddenly overcome with a terrifyingly intense urge to sleep. His body needed rest, his _mind_ need rest. He planned to be as far away from the vigilante as he could be, by the time he recovered. Soulmate or not, he was _built_ for survival– he had survived without his other half for _so long_ , in the _worst_ of the places, in the _worst_ of times. There was no room, no _need,_ for one now. He could make it– he pointedly ignored the involuntary grimace that pulled at his lips; the sudden doubt that the Masked Man could _not_.

Matt frowned as the Russian’s eyes drifted closed, heart falling into an unsteady beat for a _moment too long_ , before regaining stability. He thought back– back to finding Claire in that garage beaten almost half to death, on the order of the man who now slept fitfully in his apartment. _Could he ever truly move on from that?_ He tried to think of what had caused him more horror, caused his world to grind to a halt, caused his palms to grow slick and his blood to go cold– Vladimir’s heart going silent, or the threat that Claire’s would.

He left Vladimir to thrash, alone, in the grips of a supposed nightmare a few minutes later, because he found that he didn’t like the answer his heart supplied.

 

 

Russian Translations:

“Ты идиот” = you’re an idiot

“дерьмо стол в любом случае” = was shit table anyway

“невозможно” = impossible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally disliked this chapter, BUT IDK. Tell me what you guys think? Please? 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! If the Russian translations are wrong, PLEASE TELL ME.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: http://awesomeandromedablack.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long this fic will be, but I'm aiming for under ten chapters...? Maybe...? Feedback and commentary are appreciated, as always. Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awesomeandromedablack


End file.
